Brothers
by gote
Summary: "Dominique Weasley put on her steel-capped boots and stomped all over your flimsy little heart." -Lorcan/Dominique/Lysander-


_Brothers_

A sunny hillside in a place that feels like a dream. A trickling creek, wildflowers and the scuttering of small wildlife passing by. Two blond boys –men, almost- alike in appearance but polar opposites in all else. One hugs his arms to his chest, rests his face on his knees. Occasionally he blinks. Mostly he just stares off into the distance. The other's expression flickers with every passing thought or emotion. He sucks the end of the cigarette he holds in his tanned hand like it's oxygen not toxic chemicals he's inhaling.

"She's a bitch," the latter bursts out suddenly. It's loud in the silence and some nearby birds take for the sky, startled.

His brother lifts his head and fixes him an expression equal in hopelessness and sincerity. "But she's beautiful."

Lysander doesn't look at Lorcan like he's mad when he says it and Lorcan doesn't tell Lysander off for smoking even though he knows he's nearly gone through an entire packet that day and they're barely into the pm hours and so often he worries that Lysander'll die and he'll be left to face this world alone.

"And she knows it," Lysander counters.

"That doesn't make it any less true."

"No, it just makes her all the more dangerous."

Their eye contact is suddenly intense and this could almost be an argument but Lorcan averts his eyes and lets his head fall back down, his loose curls obscuring his sad blue eyes.

"I love her," he says quietly.

Lysander's eyes narrow dangerously. "Dominique Weasley," he says, and the undercurrent of anger that's been lurking under the surface of his words this whole time has risen, is almost clearly audible. "Put on her steel-capped boots and stomped all over your flimsy little heart."

The only inclination that Lorcan's even heard him is the subtle sight of his hands curling tight into fists, the tanned skin whitening as the hurt bubbles through him as if it were fresh. However, he says not a word.

Lysander continues and his tone could be perceived as conveying his protective anger over his brother. "You should not _love _her. How can you even stand to think of her after the things she did to you? How can you be in the same room as her? How can you love-"

Lorcan cuts him off midsentence, something the quieter twin never does. "How can you?" he asks. His voice is so quiet, tone so neutral that it conveys his pain and betrayal louder than if he'd shouted it from the hilltop.

Lysander freezes and involuntarily sucks in a deep breath. He inhales more smoke than even he can stand and suddenly he's choking, coughing, spluttering.

Lorcan says not a word, offers not the slightest of help. He waits until Lysander's regained his breath and looks to his brother with steely eyes that only he knows are threatening to brim with tears. Lysander's eyes, identical to Lorcan's own, are wide and panicked. A deer in the headlights. "How could you?" says Lorcan, his voice heavy with a thousand different implications.

Opening his mouth as if to object, deny, Lysander closes it again right away as Lorcan's lips curl into what is almost a snarl, like a wounded animal threatened. He's angry like Lysander –his twin brother and best friend for almost nineteen years now- has never seen him before.

But he's Lorcan and he's quite literally the sweetest boy you'll ever come across and his lip quivers and his eyes fill with the tears they've been threatening. He turns his head away in shame and sniffs once.

Lysander's heart just breaks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeats the words over and over again but they're nothing but words; hollow, shallow and meaningless. They cannot fix, they cannot mend, they do nothing to lesson either's pain.

"When were you going to tell me that you slept with her?" Lorcan demands. "Before or after I told you I loved her? Oh wait, it was too late for the first one."

"Lor…" His voice is strangled.

Lorcan shakes his head. "Don't. Just _don't_."

Lysander feels like he's drowning in this sea of hopelessness. There's nothing he can say, but if there was he'd say it all. A thousand times over. It's like words are failing him entirely and he's relying purely on the emotion in his voice when he says, "I am so sorry…"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lorcan's shifted position, shifted his tone and –they both know- shifted the conversation.

Lysander sighs, breathes in what is a shaky breath. He closes his eyes, what he's about to admit inevitable. "That I love her too?"

Lorcan nods through a shaky sob that's also a laugh. "That you love her too."


End file.
